Six For Gold
by Valravn
Summary: Explicit, graphic Het sex. Magpie and Macklin attend a Secret Service function, and try to out-do each other in teasing. Who will break first?


Macklin leaned against the window frame in the darkened lounge. The night sky should be black, but the city lights blocked out the stars and gave it a dark orange glow. He found he missed the crystal clear skies of the Lake District.

"Sulking around in the dark, Brian?"

He turned to see Maggie silhouetted in the doorway, just a black outline against the light.

"You know I hate these functions," he grumbled.

She switched on the light, and Macklin temporarily forgot his mood. She wore a simple gown of fine black jersey. It clung to her like a second skin, flowing over each curve and plane of her body. Lace covered her shoulder to wrist. The jersey fabric followed the line of her breasts in a heart shape, the neck and shoulders of the dress the same fine lace as the sleeves. Her hair was swept up, tendrils escaping to curl around her face and cascade from the top of her head down towards her neck, exposing the long, pale column of her throat. His gaze followed the line down her body to the floor, where the dress gently brushed against her black stiletto shoes, before back up to her face. Her eyes burned with the same hunger he felt coiling in his gut.

She wetted her dark red lips with the tip of her tongue. The small gesture made his cock twitch.

"You look good enough to eat," she said huskily, her gaze travelling the length of him in open admiration. He flushed at the blatant desire in her eyes.

The dress flowed and moulded against her like smoke as she moved. The side split in the dress ran from mid-thigh to the floor, sliding to reveal a slender leg as she walked towards him slowly.

"I could say the same thing," he growled, the steel-blue eyes dark with desire.

She gave a slow smile as she recognised the lust in his eyes. "Shame we have to go out really," she said.

He reached out to trail one finger gently along the line of her jaw. Her eyes closed and she shivered at his touch.

"We don't have to go," he murmured softly.

She opened her eyes. "Oh but you promised Cowley," she reminded him.

He groaned. "I'll have to think of a suitable revenge."

She held out one of her hands in front of his face, displaying long scarlet talons. She wiggled her fingers. "Think of the damage I could do with these." A glint sparkled in her eyes as she reached out to drag one red fingernail down his nose and over his lips, catching his bottom lip and tugging it gently. "Your shirt could be in shreds within seconds," she whispered huskily.

He tried to catch her finger between his teeth with a playful snap. She laughed and stepped back, allowing her gaze to travel the length of him.

He wore an elegant black tuxedo with dress trousers, with a plain fine linen shirt, dazzling white against the inky blackness. A black silk bow tie lay, neat and precise, around his collar. His hair shone like old gold in the light. Her breathing changed subtly, becoming slower and deeper. When she met his gaze again, he saw her eyes were almost black with lust, luminous against the dark eye-shadow and mascara. She wetted her lips provocatively, dragging her teeth over her lower lip as she bit it gently. He growled softly, reaching out to pull on her chin, freeing her lip from her sharp white teeth.

She grinned and moved away from him before he could lower his head to kiss her gently abused lips. He watched her walk away. The back of her dress was almost entirely lace, the jersey fabric plunging low and the lace continuing from the front to cover the pale skin of her back.

"Come on," she said brusquely. She paused at the doorway and turned back to him with a sultry smile. "I'll tell you a secret when we get there."

He followed her reluctantly. His hands in his trouser pockets pulled the fabric tight around his crotch and he noticed the twitch in her eyebrow as she glanced at the erection pushing against the tight cloth.

"Maybe you should keep the jacket fastened," she said with a smile.

She kept her distance from him as they left the house, always engineering to be just out of his reach. He opened the passenger door of the dark green Jaguar and caught her before she could duck into the cream leather interior. She placed her index finger on his lips before he managed to kiss her, pushing him away gently.

"You have to promise to behave," she said softly, a slow smile on her lips.

He gave her a warning look, releasing her reluctantly and watching as she slid sinuously into the cream leather seat. "It's not me I'm worried about," he said, closing the door and moving to the driver's side. He slid into the seat, his jacket hanging loosely as he accommodated his length behind the steering wheel.

He turned to her, his gaze travelling over her from head to toe. She sat primly, staring out of the window, apparently oblivious to him

"Didn't you threaten to spit in the PM's eye if you ever had the chance?" he asked with a grin.

She turned to him, her expression one of wide-eyed innocence. "I may have," she conceded.

He shook his head and started the car. "Democratically elected, Maggie," he admonished.

"Not by me."

The car purred out of the drive and the engine note changed as he slid smoothly through the gears. "You don't vote," he reminded her.

"I can't," she corrected him automatically. "Dead woman, remember?"

He gave her a quick sidelong look. The fact she made a joke of her non-entity status didn't mean she found it amusing.

"You're looking good for it," he said with a smile.

"One does what one can," she replied archly, suppressing a grin.

"So what's the secret you were going to tell me?" he asked, negotiating the evening traffic with ease.

"Wait til we get there."

He sighed. "I hate these functions," he said again.

"I'm not fond of them myself," she admitted.

"You've never been to one before."

"True," she agreed. She turned to look at his profile. "But I'm not exactly a people person. I don't do parties."

She kept watching him, admiring the strong handsome features, his eyes glinting in the street lights.

"Can you still remember ballroom dancing?" His lips curled in a slight smile. He was aware of her scrutiny.

"Oh, I think so," she said. He felt her hand slide up his thigh, the tips of her fingers brushing against his groin as she stroked his hip. "Fancy taking me on the dance floor, do you?" she asked with deliberate emphasis.

He waited until the car drew to a halt in traffic before reaching for her roaming hand. He raised it to his lips, carefully tracing the outline of her knuckles with his tongue before grazing one with his teeth. "You'd better be careful, my girl, else that's exactly what I'll be doing," he replied.

She grinned slowly, her eyes alive with amusement. He got the distinct impression that battle lines had just been drawn.

He released her hand unwillingly as the traffic began to move again.

"Now, now, Brian," she said softly. "Best behaviour, remember?"

The rest of the drive was in companionable silence, the tension palpable, a living breathing presence moving between them.

They pulled up outside the mansion, the doorman reaching for the driver's door as Macklin stepped out of the car. He gave the keys to the waiting valet, accepting his ticket in exchange, and stepped around the front of the car to the passenger door. The valet waited courteously while Macklin took Maggie's outstretched hand as she slid elegantly out of the car. When the passenger door shut, the valet took the driver's seat and moved the car on, leaving them standing under the canopy.

Macklin looked down at her, enjoying the view. "What were you going to tell me?" he enquired.

She affected a look of nonchalance. "Oh yes." She reached to cup his ear with one hand. He bent slightly so she could whisper in his ear, and shuddered as the tip of her tongue trailed against the sensitive skin of his ear.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," she whispered softly.

She began to walk away from him, leaving him standing in shocked silence. His eyes were drawn automatically to the flare of her hips, feeling the surge in his crotch as his imagination supplied the details of what lay under the skin tight fabric.

She turned back and gave him a sultry smile. "Brian?" She waited until he reached her side, sliding her arm through his. "There's more," she said in a secretive whisper.

"What?" he asked, his mouth dry in anticipation.

She smiled slowly, aware of his arousal. "Oh I think I'll save that for later."

The doorman held the door open for them, and they entered the party. Soft music from a string quartet played in the background, small groups flowing and merging, like oil moving over water. Everyone screamed monochromatic elegance.

They saw Cowley standing in a small group of ministers and senior civil servants. His craggy features were sharp and attentive. Maggie led him by the hand to the opposite end of the room, where Bodie and Doyle stood with their companions, next to a large ornate fireplace. Macklin sighed, reluctant to indulge in enforced pleasantries.

She held his hand loosely, her fingers tracing circles in his palm and sliding along his wrist in a delicate tickling motion. He felt it slowly relax the tension in him, almost hypnotic, before the lazy arousal started to curl in his gut.

"Bodie, Doyle." The curt, clipped voice gave away none of the desire he felt burning in his groin.

They indulged in idle chit-chat, exchanging introductions with the two girls, and other pleasantries. Maggie stood slightly in front of him, her fingers still curled around his. As she chatted, she moved his hand until it rested against the flare of her hip. He could feel her warmth through the fabric and remembered what she had said. His fingers moved imperceptibly against her, feeling the smooth lines of her body beneath the dress, and nothing else. No seams, no barriers, no other slide of fabric.

She turned to a passing waiter, the movement making his hand slide further around her waist until it rested on her hip bone. She took two glasses of champagne from the tray and thanked the waiter with a bright smile, turning to offer one glass to him. He saw the glint of amusement in her eyes as she looked at him over the edge of the glass as she sipped her champagne, and he knew none of her movements had been accidental.

The tip of her tongue flicked out to gather the shining drop of champagne that clung to her top lip and she smiled as she saw the lust darkening his eyes.

She turned back to the others, apparently intent in conversation with Doyle's girlfriend, a pretty, dark-haired girl with golden hazel eyes. The conversation masked her movement as she stepped back into him, bringing her into contact with his chest and groin. He felt the warmth of her pressed against him, and the scent of her perfume. When she was satisfied as to his interest by the hardness pressed into her back, she moved gently, invisibly, brushing against his erection seemingly by accident.

He tried to concentrate of the buzz of conversation rather than the warm press of her against him. He caught her reflection in the mirror hanging above the fireplace, a knowing look in her violet eyes.

He hid a smile. If that was the game she wanted to play, so be it. He would have to see how far she would take it. Instead of backing away from her, he pressed in closer, his one hand gripping her hip and pulling her into him. He saw the slight widening of her eyes in the reflection, and considered the score even again.

He kept his expression carefully neutral, his attention apparently on Bodie and Doyle and the genteel conversation. Bodie's attention constantly wavered to his companion, a dark haired girl with large, chocolate-brown eyes that combined innocence and seduction in equal measure. Doyle's green eyes flicked regularly to his partner, while she met his gaze with golden eyes half hidden behind her lashes. Both couples were love's young dream.

And Maggie? Maggie was apparently oblivious to him. No secret looks or silent promises seemed to pass between them.

But Macklin knew from the glint in her eyes that she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended.

Maggie's gaze flickered to the mirror again, using the reflection to keep an eye on the tall man pressed against her. She had seen the challenge in his eyes, accepted the terms, and now they carefully circled each other, waiting for an opening to attack. The warm, reassuring length of him against her back challenged as much as it teased. Macklin had iron self-control. She knew she did not possess anything like his discipline. It had taken all her will to get out of the house. The sight of him, lurking in the shadows, all dark elegance and sleek power, had made her resent the whole evening. She wanted nothing more than to make love to him there and then. When she had caught the sudden lust flaring in his eyes as he saw her, she had decided she was going to make him regret looking so damned sexy. She was going to make him as desperate for her as she was for him. The only thing was she hadn't counted on how much teasing him would tease herself.

"Have you checked the seating plan?" She turned to him with a look of wide-eyed innocence, using the movement and her purse to hide the firm brush of her hand over his groin.

A look of part-threat, part-amusement flashed in his eyes. "Not yet. Maybe we should." He drew her to his side, smiling as he excused himself from the others. His strong hand dwarfed her delicate one, his fingers lightly curled around hers as they walked towards the seating plan.

"You're playing with fire, my girl," he said softly.

A bland, polite smile gave her a serene look. "So are you," she replied, none of the heat or passion she felt showing in her expression.

They stopped in front of the board, and he looked down at her, his gaze sliding from her face down her body and back again. "Is that so?" he said. A smile tugged at his lips. "Then we'll have to see who gets their fingers burned."

"Not just fingers," she replied archly, stepping neatly in front of him and bending slightly towards the seating plan. As she had planned, her backside pressed firmly into his groin. Instinct over-rode propriety for a split second, his hands gripping her hips firmly, his fingers curling around the bone and pulling her closer.

She straightened in time for his gasp to gust close to her ear and gave him a smile of triumph. "Dear me, and we haven't even got to the starters yet."

His steel-blue eyes were dark. "Wait til we get to the main course," he growled softly.

"Brian. Maggie." Maggie turned, startled by Cowley's sudden appearance. Macklin grinned, taking the opportunity to stand slightly behind and to one side of her.

"I'm glad you both could make it." Cowley's expression showed wry amusement. He knew how much they both hated public appearances.

Macklin rested his hand on Maggie's shoulder. "Well, we did promise," he said.

Maggie gave a sharp intake of breath as his thumb started to trace idle circles on the back of her neck.

Cowley gave her a quick look. "Maggie?"

She shuddered briefly, uncontrollably, but fixed a bright smile on her face. "Oh I'm loving it," she said enthusiastically. "I really think we should come more often."

Behind her, Macklin coughed shortly. He removed his hand from her shoulder, slowly brushing down her spine surreptitiously. Maggie breathed in sharply. "Of course," she said with evil intent. "He never takes me anywhere. Just locks me up at home when we're not working. Sometimes even when we are."

Cowley pursed his lips, hiding his amusement. He could see he was being used as a weapon in some kind of private game they were playing. "Aye, well, sometimes you could benefit from locking up," he said.

Macklin took her hand, lacing her arm through his. "Oh I keep her on a very tight leash."

"Some might call it a choker," she added quickly.

Cowley gave her a sharp look, encountering only wide-eyed innocence. "Some might think it appropriate," he said archly. He nodded his farewell, his stern look melting into a smile as he met Macklin's cool gaze. "I'll see both of you inside, I expect."

"Now that's living dangerously," Macklin murmured as they watched Cowley walk away.

She turned to face him, standing in front of him. "Couple of adrenalin junkies like us? We thrive on that kind of thing," she replied. She gave him a sultry look, her eyes dark. "Adds spice, don't you think?"

He gave her an appraising look, sliding the back of his hand up her abdomen, stopping just beneath and between the swell of her breasts. "Do we need spice, do you think?" he asked softly.

Her lips parted invitingly, a sharp intake of breath escaping involuntarily. He watched the pulse beating strongly at her throat, hunger in his eyes.

She gave a predatory smile. "Vampire," she said, correctly tracing his line of sight.

"Can I help it if I appreciate a fine neck?" he said innocently. He reached out, his thumb lightly grazing over the pulse in her throat as he moved an imaginary strand of hair from her face.

Her eyes half closed at the contact, a soft sigh escaping. "Can I help it if food is the last thing on my mind right now?"

He gave a rich, throaty chuckle, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Can't say I'm hungry for food myself," he agreed.

She almost gave in, surrendering to the knowing look in his eyes. She couldn't remember why she was putting up such a show of resistance when all she wanted was to let him do whatever he wanted with her. A shudder passed through her at the thought of how his hands felt on her body, his lips on her skin, blowing, kissing, biting.

She saw his lips part, his breathing ragged in his throat as he recognised the desire in her. A nerve twitched in his jaw as he clenched down firmly on his rising lust. She smiled slowly. What would it take to break that iron self-control? To have him desperate to take her at any cost? For all his discipline, Macklin was a passionate man. Teasing him, allowing all that desire to build up – what would be unleashed? What would he do?

It was worth a little patience to find out.

Her smile remained as the call came for the guests to take their seats. Macklin recognised her expression, and gave her a look, half-warning, half-teasing. She was determined to test her limits as well as her own, it seemed.

He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips, his gaze firmly locked on hers as he blew gently across her knuckles. He saw the slight start, the flare of lust in her eyes, and softly dragged his teeth over her skin, nipping her fingers gently. Her eyes closed involuntarily, a sigh escaping her lips before she swallowed with difficulty, opening eyes now almost purple with desire. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, his tongue darting out to slide quickly between her fingers.

She gave a sharp intake of breath, wondering if she'd imagined the erotic sensation as he threaded her arm through his as though nothing had happened.

She took a deep breath, feeling a rush of confusing emotions roiling through her. On one hand, she wanted to call off the game, unable to cope with the surging lust running through her veins. On the other, she felt angry with herself, at her lack of self-control. She felt immature, childish, unable to control her emotions, while he remained cool and collected, the complete master of himself.

He paused, looking down at her with a slight frown creasing his features. "Maggie?" he said softly, drawing her attention to him. He examined her expression carefully, noting the sharpness in her gaze and wondering where the sudden flare of temper had come from.

She looked up at him, seeing the concern in his face. His fingers stroked gently over hers, reassuring and warm. She smiled and took his hand in hers, raising it to her lips and brushing lightly over the back of his hand. She felt him shudder, heard a soft gasp escape his lips, and felt her mood evaporate. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. It was ridiculous to doubt that.

He led her through the people milling around the huge ballroom. She felt a sudden lurch of panic at the number of people surrounding them, anchoring herself to his warmth by his side. She wasn't comfortable in crowds. He felt her fingers grip his arm tightly and reached to place his other hand reassuringly on top of hers. In her own environment, Maggie reigned supreme. But here, in this world of cool elegance and superficial beauty, he knew she felt horribly out of place.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, knowing she needed to hear it. The shy look she gave him captivated him completely with its simple sincerity.

"Really?" she asked.

He smiled, concentrating on keeping her attention on him and not the people surrounding them. Alone, Macklin could cope in any situation with detached, controlled professionalism. Maggie would shut down, close her emotions, and lock herself away. She would never put herself in this situation under normal circumstances. Macklin found he enjoyed these situations more with her, seeing things through her eyes, sharing the experience and seeing it anew. Nothing was boring as long as they were together. As long as they were together, nothing else really mattered. Together, everything became a game. He had to remind her that she wasn't alone.

"Really," he said firmly. He held her chair as she took her seat, and slid the chair underneath her. He leaned down to press his lips against her neck softly. "You're beautiful, and I love you so very much," he whispered in her ear.

She blushed, watching him with a smile as he took his own seat next to her. They shared their table with three other couples, including Murphy and his girlfriend, a tall slender woman with pale skin and flame red hair. Idle chatter flowed over and around them. With Macklin's reassuring presence beside her, Maggie began to relax. She may never be entirely comfortable in these situations, but she could learn to be more confident.

She watched Macklin from under her lashes, sipping her wine, enjoying the dark red richness on her tongue. The velvet texture of the wine reminded her of the taste of his skin, just as intoxicating. He caught her expression and felt the familiar surge of desire. He could never get used to seeing that look in her eyes, that hunger, amazed that it should be aimed at him. Warmth suffused him at the sight of her, her amethyst eyes shining in the candlelight, glints of gold against her porcelain skin. Her voice was low, a rich, familiar sound that flowed over him, reassuring and enticing in equal measures. As the meal progressed, the sound of her voice and her warm, dark laugh teased and aroused him as much as the sight and scent of her. He felt a shudder pass through him as she gave a low chuckle, as though the sound was a physical touch, as intimate as any caress.

After the waiter had removed the final dishes and they relaxed around the table, Macklin stifled a start of surprise as she reached beneath the table to rest her hand on his knee. Hidden by the table cloth, she continued her conversation with Murphy and his partner, as her hand trailed slowly but surely up his thigh. She lightly traced his strong, firm thigh muscles. He suppressed a shudder as her fingers dipped to slide on the sensitive inside of his thigh. He felt the lightest caress against his groin, the erection he had been hiding all evening twitching in eager response to her touch. He hid his disappointment as her hand slid back down his leg.

Secret Service affairs were expensive, tasteful affairs. No speeches or medals, no flowery words or accolades. Service was its own reward, and glory hunters did not last long. The lighting dimmed gently, suffusing the guests with a warm, sultry glow. Macklin watched the play of light and shadows over her, highlighting the pale ivory skin of her throat against the black lace dress. She smiled and laughed, and he felt pure contentment at the sight.

He decided it was time to even the score again, reaching beneath the table to slide his hand against her leg. The split of the skirt was on his side, and he intended taking full advantage of that. Her skin was soft and warm, inviting further explorations. He felt a slight flex in her thigh muscles and heard a subtle shift in her breathing, but her attention remained fixed on Murphy and his partner. He lightly traced circles on her thigh, moving slowly up her leg. She shifted slightly, allowing him to stroke against the warm satin of her inner thigh. She was silent, apparently intent on listening to Murphy. She rested her head on one hand, leaning across the table, masking his movements. She seemed calm and untroubled, but he could see the other hand clutching the edge of the table, unseen by any of the other guests. She grasped and kneaded the material reflexively, the only outward sign that his actions were having any effect.

He slid his hand further up her thigh, to the point where her legs met, and he stifled his own gasp. She turned and fixed him with a meaningful look as his fingers traced the soft silken skin. He felt a sudden jolt in his groin, his heart hammering in time to the soft pulse of his erection as he sought to control the urge to ejaculate.

She leaned towards him, her eyes dark, and whispered in his ear. "This dress is very tight. Shows everything. So steps had to be taken."

He saw the widening in her eyes as he stroked against the bare silken skin again. He swallowed with difficulty, his mouth dry. Suddenly, the rest of the guests seemed to disappear. His mind filled with the image of sweeping the table clear, lifting her onto it and taking her, hard and deep.

She smiled slowly, as though reading his mind. He removed his hand reluctantly as she stood, watching her walk with feline grace towards the Ladies' Room, and wondered how soon they could leave.

He allowed himself to be drawn into conversation with the couple on his left, Lucas and his girlfriend, but most of his thoughts were of her, waiting for her to return. He looked up in time to see her enter the ballroom again, smiling to himself at the sight of her. The smile faded as he saw Bodie sweep her into his embrace, his hands firm around her slight waist, his face close to hers.

She smiled up at Bodie, a playful glint in her eyes, and allowed him to draw her onto the dance floor. Macklin felt his sudden flare of jealousy settle into a low simmer, tempered by the pleasure at watching her move gracefully across the floor, Bodie leading her easily. They made a very handsome couple, and the thought made the jealousy rise inside him again, as ridiculous as he knew it to be.

With a mischievous look, he turned to Lucas' girlfriend, smoothly asking if she would like to dance. The pretty blonde gave Lucas a quick glance as though seeking permission, before agreeing. He led the girl to the dance floor, taking her in his arms and joining the foxtrot smoothly. The girl was a competent dance partner, fitting to his movements easily and gracefully.

Maggie followed Bodie's smooth lead easily. "You've hidden talents, Bodie," she said with a smile.

He gave her a half smile, his navy blue eyes sliding up and down her figure. "So have you," he said, eyebrow arching over twinkling eyes. "Although that dress can't honestly be said to be hiding much."

"Can't think what you mean," she said innocently. "I'm covered head to toe."

"In body paint," he said with a smile. "Macklin's going to be fighting them off with a stick if he's not careful."

"You suggesting I can't look after myself, Bodie?" she asked.

He gave her a teasing look as they turned elegantly. "Down, girl," he growled with a laugh. He caught sight of Macklin leading the pretty girl to the floor. "Oh, looks like Lucas has lost his bird."

"What's that?" she asked, turning to see what he was talking about. Bodie caught the subtle tightening of her grip on his hands, her expression suddenly frozen at the sight of the girl in Macklin's arms.

"Relax," he said calmly, squeezing her gently to get her attention. "Maybe you're not the only one getting jealous."

"Why would he be jealous?"

Bodie looked down at her, one eyebrow raised sardonically. "You have to be joking." He saw the guileless look in her eyes and laughed. "Why should you be jealous? They're only dancing."

She gave a thoughtful pout, her eyes laughing as she realised the irony. "When did you get so sensible?" she asked.

He smirked. "I have hidden talents, you said so yourself."

She laughed easily, forcing herself not to watch Macklin as he led the girl smoothly around the dance floor.

The dance ended, and Bodie bowed courteously with a smirk. She ignored the sarcasm and slid her arm through his, allowing him to escort her back to his table, where his companion eyed her speculatively. Bodie sat beside her, sliding his arm around the back of her chair and giving her a smile that melted the frosty look in those rich, chocolate brown eyes.

Maggie itched to turn around and look for Macklin, but she couldn't. It would be too obvious that she was watching, and she had too much pride for that. She considered her options. Bodie's girlfriend would not take kindly to her stealing her paramour again. Which left Doyle.

She gave him a calculating look. "By some miracle, can you at least waltz, Ray?" she asked.

His green eyes were wide. "Eh?"

She gave a wry smile and grabbed his hand. "Promise me you won't tread on my toes," she said. She turned to his girlfriend and gave a reassuring smile. "I'll return him in one piece, I guarantee it." She led him to the dance floor, ignoring his token resistance.

Doyle gave a sigh of resignation as he took her in his arms. "You're going to regret this," he said.

"Why? You that bad?" She grinned.

Doyle jerked his head slightly in Macklin's direction. "He's going to kill at least one of us. Probably me."

"And why would he do that?"

He gave her a curious look. "You know he's never liked me since he found out about us," he said.

She quirked her head to one side, confused. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" He waltzed her around easily, the steps automatic. "He's jealous."

"That's ridiculous," she protested.

"Not really," he disagreed.

"Then explain."

He smiled secretively. "Ask him," he replied. "Jealousy doesn't have to be logical."

She frowned in confusion, casting another look towards Macklin. His gaze was hard, anger flaring in his steel-blue eyes. She still didn't understand.

"Let me ask you this," Doyle said softly. "When we were together, was anything going on between you and Macklin?"

She gave him a horrified look. "No!" she said sharply.

He smiled ruefully. "So did you dump me for him?"

She blinked, not following his logic at all, completely out of her depth. "No," she admitted. She looked at him sheepishly, his steady gaze meeting hers expectantly. "It wasn't like that," she protested. "I didn't think he was interested."

"But you were?"

She hesitated, not knowing how to explain the confusion she had felt. "I wasn't prepared to wallow in unrequited love," she replied at last, unable to look at him in her embarrassment. "Besides, it was a long time ago. I thought it would have worn off."

"It obviously didn't."

She smiled fondly. "No," she admitted.

Doyle hid his smile. Their relationship had always been destined to be short-lived. That didn't mean he regretted it. Maggie had been a peculiar blend of hard and soft, aggressive and vulnerable. Even now, dressed the way she was, he knew she would be secretly admiring the backless, strapless dresses around them that she could never wear. The dress she wore was beautiful, and she looked stunning in it, but its primary purpose was to cover the silvery scars that marred both arms and her back. She needed someone prepared to protect that inner vulnerability without ever forgetting she was more than capable of looking after herself. She needed a man like Macklin, a man strong enough to hold her when she needed it, and to let her be herself when she needed to be.

And maybe Macklin – burned out and unable to operate in the field now – maybe he needed someone strong enough to protect him as well. Someone who didn't shy from his scars and bad memories.

The firm tap on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find Macklin's steel-blue eyes glaring at him. Doyle swallowed. Burned out and inactive Macklin may be, but Doyle didn't quite fancy his chances enough to risk testing the theory.

"Mind if I cut in?" Macklin's crisp, precise voice held none of the fury simmering in the back of his eyes.

Doyle stepped away from her smoothly. "Not at all," he said. He turned to smile at Maggie. "Thanks for the dance lesson," he said with a nod. He stood aside, allowing Macklin to take his place, before turning away with a sigh of relief.

Macklin looked down at her, his eyes flashing a warning. "That was below the belt, don't you think?" he asked frostily.

She looked up at him defiantly. "Do you really think there's a man in this room I'd rather be with right now, other than you?"

His lips tightened as he tried to calm his anger. He couldn't honestly say he thought her capable of that. But how could he explain that, whether it was rational or not, that was exactly what he feared?

"You loved him," he said with difficulty, not wanting to admit it out loud, and terrified she would confirm it. As he had feared, she flushed and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Didn't you?" he added softly.

She looked up at him again, her violet eyes clear. "It's not that simple, Brian," she said.

"So explain."

She leaned into his embrace, closing the gap between them. They danced, not quite touching, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder briefly. He heard her sigh gently.

"Of course I loved him," she admitted at last. He could hear the anger in her voice that he had forced her into such an admission. "But it didn't stop me thinking about you. Wanting you. I just resigned myself to never having you. Doyle was there; you weren't."

He sighed, his grip tightening around her possessively. "And that was my fault," he growled.

"I'm not blaming you," she snapped, pulling away from him instinctively.

He held her firm. "No, you're not," he agreed. "I'm blaming myself."

Her angry look faded as she saw the self-recrimination in his eyes. "Brian," she said softly. "Doyle was the first man to know everything about me, and still want me. That had never happened to me before."

"I knew you," he protested. That Doyle should be her first anything burned him inside.

"Yes," she agreed. "In Hong Kong, before I became Magpie. And you rejected me. Doyle knew all that, all about Magpie, and he didn't push me away." She reached out with one hand to stroke his cheek, trying to ease the harshness of her words by a soothing touch. "But that doesn't mean I love you any less. And I couldn't love you more, no-one could," she added gently. "Mack – the things I've done, the things I've seen," she shook her head, unable to adequately convey the horrors she kept hidden inside. "It's a miracle I can love anyone, don't you think?"

He reached to cover the hand against his face, looking down into her violet eyes. He knew the nightmares she carried around within her. He sensed the darkness inside her. It called to the same demons inside him. Kindred spirits.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, before returning it back to his shoulder. He looked down at her fondly. "It's a miracle you can love me, I think," he said with a smile.

She smiled slowly. "Have you seen yourself?" she asked in a soft whisper. She settled nearer to him, and he slid his arm further around to hold her closer. The look in her eyes drew him in, until they seemed to be the only people in the room. "You look gorgeous," she whispered gently. "All I've wanted to do all night is drag you into some corner of the room and screw you senseless."

The arousal he had been hiding all night flared again, banishing all thoughts of Doyle. Maggie was warm, willing, in his arms. And she loved him, wanted him. Nothing else mattered.

"I told you we didn't have to come here," he said.

She moved against him, their bodies flowing together smoothly, gracefully. The waltz fit their movements, their bodies sliding together provocatively.

"Oh but we did," she replied, her voice dark and sultry. "Otherwise, I'd have ripped that shirt off you, undone that tie and used it to pull your head down to mine. I'd have marked you with these nails. I'd have covered you with bites and kisses, and then I'd have sucked your brains out through your cock."

He stopped moving abruptly, frozen by his overwhelming need for her. His breathing was ragged as he looked down at her. She gave him an enquiring look, all wide-eyed innocence despite the indecent suggestions she had whispered to him.

"So you're not wearing underwear, and you've shaved everywhere. Is there anything else I should know?" he growled, his eyes dark with lust.

She pretended to consider his question carefully. "Well," she said at last. "I'd really like you to fuck me very soon."

He turned sharply, taking her hand. "Come on," he almost snarled, his self-control at breaking point. "We're going home."

She giggled girlishly as they paused to fetch her handbag, saying quick farewells to their fellow diners. Macklin stayed close beside her, predatory and possessive. They left the mansion calmly, moving deliberately without any of the haste their lust was driving them into. They had made the decision, the teasing was to end. Everything was now just a preliminary.

Macklin slid his arm around her waist as they waited for the valet to bring the Jaguar around for them. He looked down at her, his gaze lingering over the swell of her breast, the flattened plane of her stomach, and the flare of her hips. Hunger burned in his eyes, met and matched by the lust in her own. Their breaths gusted like smoke in the cold winter air, but the heat between them banished any chill. She nestled against him, his arm strong around her, sheltering, protective.

The Jaguar pulled up smoothly, the valet jumping out to hand over the keys and hold the door. Macklin paused, surprised when Maggie opened the back door. The valet moved quickly to hold the door for her as she slid gracefully inside, closing the door when she was safely ensconced. Macklin took the driver's seat, looking at her through the rear view mirror as she slid across the seat.

"Chauffeur now, is it?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled. "I'd just like to stretch out a little," she said.

He pulled away smoothly, the engine purring throatily. The roads were almost deserted, only the orange street lights strobing over them, illuminating the interior of the car almost like flash-frame motion capture photography. He saw her move behind him, the rear view mirror catching her as she slid across the back seat, lying the length of it. The amber lights caught the exposed leg as her dress parted along her thigh, and he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He tried to fix his concentration on the road ahead, but his imagination turned the leather steering wheel into her warm satin skin under his hands. His breath came hard and ragged, his jaw tightening reflexively, the muscle twitching as he clenched his teeth in an attempt to control his over-riding lust.

She smiled seductively, seeing the tension in him. She gave a sigh, a low breathing half moan of pleasure, and raised her leg, freeing it from the heavy jersey fabric. The black stiletto pointed towards the roof of the car as she arched and flexed her calf muscles expertly. She caught his gaze flickering in the rear view mirror, and her smile broadened. Deliberately, making sure he could see every slow movement, she ran her hand down her legs, catching the long scarlet nails against her skin.

She heard the car slow down, felt the change in road surface from tarmac to drive, and gave a sigh. The engine died, and he turned around in the driver's seat to look at her, his heated gaze sliding over her body as she lay sprawled across the pale cream leather.

"We're home," he growled.

She sighed again, raising her arms over her head and arching her back in wanton invitation. The movement emphasised the firm swell of her breasts.

She giggled as the driver's door slammed closed behind him and he appeared at the now open back door. He paused to appreciate the sight of her laid out across the back seat, before sliding inside, his knee in the footwell taking most of his weight as he positioned himself carefully and deliberately on top of her. He hesitated, looking down into her eyes, savouring the moment.

Her mouth opened beneath his, sweet with wine and her own unique flavour. He tasted her slowly, all the pent up hours spent waiting for this moment making him determined to take his time. She arched against him, a sigh escaping from her lips to be swallowed by him, as his hand slid up her leg, parting her thighs beneath him. She gave a groan of complaint as his lips left hers, which turned into a sigh of pleasure as he kissed slowly down her neck. His hand slid further up her leg, kneading the firm muscles.

She gave a cry, unable to control herself, as his fingers stroked the new soft skin between her legs. Her hips jerked uncontrollably, silently begging for more. He smiled against her skin, gently teasing, ignoring the unspoken plea in her movements. He slid carefully down her body, laying kisses against her breast and stomach under the material of the dress. Her body lay, taut and breathless beneath him, anticipating each and every touch, desperate for more. Deliberately, he left her after pressing a kiss against her hip bone, feeling her spasm beneath him as he grazed the sensitive nerves. He sat back against door sill, enjoying the view. She looked down at him, her eyes huge and dark.

"You're so damned beautiful," he said in a harsh whisper, his voice heavy with lust.

She gave a sultry, self-satisfied smile. "And you can't resist, can you?" she asked softly.

He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, just above her knee, and heard her sharp intake of breath at his touch. "No," he whispered against her skin, enjoying the slight tremor in her body that had nothing to do with the cold winter air. He tasted her gently, his tongue trailing softly along the inside of her thigh.

"You'll be the one begging," he growled softly, pushing her dress higher to allow him unimpeded access.

She panted, her breaths short and heavy, but he heard her speak. "Don't bet on it," she replied. Then his mouth fastened on her hot centre, and she howled in anguished pleasure. He teased and tasted the soft skin, exploring the new textures thoroughly. She writhed and gasped, her hands grasping convulsively. She felt her will dissolving under his assault, feeling nothing but the incredible sensation of his tongue on her and in her, his hands hot and firm holding her still beneath him. She wanted to beg, to plead, to demand, but the overwhelming pleasure rippling through her robbed her of speech. She pushed against him, desperate for him to take everything he could.

The sounds she made drove him insane, desperate to wring every noise she was capable of from those dark red lips. His erection pressed painfully against his trousers, trapped and restricted, throbbing in time to the pulse beating inside her, as though an echo to her own desire. He burned with the need to free himself from the tight trousers and bury himself deep inside her, feel her wet heat surround him. He had wanted to make her beg, but in teasing her he was tormenting himself.

He locked his arms beneath her knees and pulled her towards him, sliding her across the leather seat. He sought her mouth again, plundering those depths as he had the sweet centre of her. Her arms wrapped around him, and he held her, moving back slowly and carefully, working by pure instinct as his need for her destroyed all reason. He manoeuvred her out of the car without breaking the kiss, picking her up easily, his hands spanning her waist. Three long strides, and she felt the warm bonnet of the Jaguar beneath her as he sat her down on the car. He reached, roughly and firmly, to part her legs, sliding himself inside.

She felt his hardness straining inside his trousers, and reached between them, eager to release him. He gasped as her hand found him inside his trousers, pulling him free quickly and smoothly. He felt her legs lock around him, pulling him towards her. Then her hot centre surrounded him, and he gave an animalistic growl, feeling the warm muscles of her ripple along his length as she pulled him inside her, hard and deep.

She threw back her head, the feel of him inside her robbing her of speech. She became aware of his face pressed against her neck, his breath hot against her as he shuddered, desperate for some semblance of control. She gave a triumphant smile, lowering her mouth to nip at his neck with sharp teeth.

"Ready to beg now, Mack?" she whispered.

He raised his head, his dark gold hair tousled, and kissed her savagely, desperately. He broke the kiss, staring down at her, breathing hard and heavy. "You want me to beg?" he asked hoarsely. His gaze roamed over her kiss-bruised mouth and violet eyes. He lifted her with surprising gentleness, shuddering as he removed himself from her unwillingly. Keeping a firm hold of her waist, he put her on her feet before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the front door. He stood her up, waiting til she had found her balance before letting go of her to open the door quickly. Once inside, he pushed her ahead of him, kicking the door shut behind him. He pressed her firmly against the wall, only the silvery moonlight and the light from the hallway upstairs illuminating them.

"You want me to beg?" he repeated, taking a firm hold of the delicate lace of her dress in both hands and ripping the material easily. He pulled her hands free from the lace, allowing the tattered dress to fall to the floor. He looked down at her, her hair escaping its confines, wearing only the satin stilettos, and fell to his knees. He gripped her hips in his strong hands, pressing his face into her abdomen and laying kisses over the old scars there, loving them as he loved every part of her.

"Please," he whispered hoarsely against her skin. "I'll beg, I'll plead. Whatever you want." He looked up at her, his steel-blue eyes dark with passion. "Only, please – let me. Love me."

She took his face in her hands, lowering her mouth to kiss him gently. He reached up to cradle her head in his hands, pulling her down to him. They tumbled to the floor together, her hands pulling and pushing at his jacket, finally throwing it away from them. She rolled on top of him, struggling with his cuff links, growling in frustration as they impeded her progress. Finally they were removed, rattling across the floor as she disposed of them. She broke the kiss, sitting up to gaze down at him. She undid the bow tie slowly, pulling it open and letting it lie against his throat. With a satisfied smile, she rested her hands on his shirt, her fingers sliding between the buttons, before ripping them apart, buttons flying in all directions.

She lowered her head to his chest, dragging her tongue over the exposed skin while her nails scratched lightly down his sides. He arched against her, helping her remove his trousers, both of them scrambling madly, trying to kiss, touch and strip desperately. Finally, they were both naked, his body covering hers, his arms strong around her. She could feel the smooth muscles of his arms flex against her skin as he held her tightly, sliding her beneath him. Her legs opened around him, her arms around his waist as she pulled him closer. He took her mouth with his, kissing her deeply as he slid inside her, feeling her hips arch to welcome him. She raised her legs to draw him deeper inside, and he felt the long fingernails drag down his back, making him twitch uncontrollably, automatically thrusting deeper.

The desperation that had been building all evening, the hunger and lust, finally found completion in their joined bodies. They moved slowly, firmly, wanting only to stay like this. She thrust against him, pushing him over onto his back. He rolled, pulling her on top of him, never breaking their connection. She straddled him as he braced himself against the floor, thrusting upwards slowly, watching as she sat astride him, her hands trailing down his chest.

"We should have been doing this six hours ago," she breathed softly.

He laughed gently, the chuckle rumbling in his chest and stomach beneath her. His hands stroked her hips, reaching up to grasp her waist, pulling her down onto him. She threw her head back, giving a moan as he moved inside her. He sat up, coaxing her legs around him and holding her, raising his knees for her to rest against. He trailed his tongue slowly up her chest, between her breasts, tasting the salt sweetness of her skin. She groaned as his tongue slid up her neck. He paused to bite at the pulse beating wildly in her throat, before carrying up the pale column of her throat to nibble at her ear.

"Do you still want me to beg?" he whispered softly.

She gasped and pulled away from him, smiling when she saw he was laughing at her again. She leaned forward to kiss him softly, rolling her hips against him, relishing the long hard heat of him deep inside.

"Please, Mack," she breathed, gazing deep into his steel-blue eyes. "Please?"

He brushed her lips with his own, teasing them with the tip of his tongue. "You never have to ask twice," he whispered against her mouth.

The kiss deepened, becoming more demanding, as he picked her up easily. Her legs locked around his waist as he lifted her, positioning her underneath him as he slid on top of her, his weight driving himself deep inside her again. She gasped and arched against him, fighting the sensations even as she surrendered to them. She didn't want this to end, not yet. She wanted to feel this sweet abandonment for as long as possible, but the burning length of him inside her threatened to push her further over the edge. She clung to him desperately, her fingernails digging into the hard muscles of his back as she shuddered against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her tight against him, his other arm taking the weight of himself.

"Oh God. Maggie," he breathed into her neck, unable to do anything but move against her, lost in the feel of her beneath him, her body yielding and moulding to his. All he could hear was his heart beat, hammering in his chest, and her wordless moans and cries as she slid against him, holding him close.

She shuddered hard, her cries becoming more desperate. He stared down at her, watching her eyes widen as though in fear or surprise, but knowing it was neither. Her mouth opened and closed, gasping her need wordlessly. He felt her muscles tighten around him, finding it difficult now to move as she clung to him. Heat burned and tingled at the base of his spine, flowing across his abdomen and centring in his groin. He gasped at her grip on him, at the rippling sensation along him. He met her gaze, looking deep into the violet eyes as she jerked suddenly, raising herself up to press against him, and he felt the warm heat of her along his length pulling him with her into screaming, dizzy orgasm. He thrust mindlessly, every heartbeat and pulse raw and desperate and as necessary as air or water. It seemed to last forever.

The silence afterwards felt like the sudden deafness following an explosion, the only sound their own heartbeats and gasping breaths. He could feel her heart hammering against his, her body slowly relaxing against him as though all her muscles had suddenly melted. He felt the same languorous heaviness in his own body, trying to keep his weight off her but unable to control his own body in the aftermath. Her hands stroked slowly and gently up his back, soothing and calming, and he heard her give a contented sigh, almost purring against him.

"We should really go to those functions more often," she whispered, her voice hoarse and languid.

He chuckled darkly, burying his face in her neck and lazily licking at the sweat glistening on her skin. "Next time, I'll drag you in to the cloakroom if I have to," he threatened.

She laughed softly. "Next time, I'll let you."

He raised his head to look down at her, seeing the satisfaction shining in her eyes. Tendrils of raven black hair had escaped from her coiffure and lay plastered to the side of her face and neck. He stroked them away gently. She closed her eyes with pleasure at the touch.

"Wanton," he growled softly. "I haven't finished with you yet."

She opened her eyes wide. "No?"

His hands slid down her body, stroking slowly over her ribs and the curve of her hips to cup her buttock, kneading the firm flesh. Lust darkened his eyes, and she felt his lazy arousal begin to stir against her once more. He leaned towards her, tracing her lips with his tongue, feeling her breathing change again as she responded to his touch.

"Bed," he whispered against her mouth. "I'm far too old for messing around on the hall floor."

She smiled. "But you do it so well."

She gasped as his mouth moved down her throat, gently sucking and biting.

"I'll do it even better in comfort," he rumbled against her throat.

His hand moved to her breast, idly playing with her hardened nipple with his fingers before lowering his mouth to the warm mound. He flicked his tongue over the hardness there before dragging his teeth gently over her, smiling at the gasp the sensation elicited from her, and the automatic arch of her back as she silently begged for more.

He pushed himself off her, hearing her soft moan of complaint, and looked down at her again. "Bed," he commanded.

She gave a sigh of pure contentment, a lazy smile on her kiss-bruised lips. "Bed," she agreed.

He stood up, pulling her upright with him, unwilling to let too much space between them. She stood within the protection of his arms, feeling safe and secure as she put her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close to her. His one hand played in her hair, pulling it free from the pins that had held it secure until it tumbled in haphazard curls down her back.

She stepped away from him, a lazy smile on her lips, holding his hands in hers, and pulled him up the stairs after her.

That had just been the beginning.

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